


Dust To Dust

by starswholisten



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Drunk Mor is my aesthetic, F/M, Mor and Az face the music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 21:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswholisten/pseuds/starswholisten
Summary: “Did I blow it, Az?"He sighed, more at himself than at her, and answered, “No, Mor. You didn’t blow it."No. Cauldron, no. She could never blow it. Not with him.But she never believed him. Because once, long ago, he had answered differently.





	Dust To Dust

Azriel didn’t watch her the whole night. Not usually. He always drank at the bar, engaging his brothers in conversation, and sometimes he even enjoyed himself.

But she was too hard to ignore. She was too bright. The darkness in the bar seemed to part for Mor, and it was blinding.

And when she drank this much, his reasons for watching her sometimes turned from awe to concern. He could always tell. She could hold her liquor well enough, and he never worried when she would dance and flit about the bar talking to anyone and everyone. That was just Mor, and he loved that part of her, like he loved every part of her.

It was always after visiting the Court of Nightmares that she would drink too much. He didn’t blame her. If he ever had to return to the prison of his childhood… well, he didn’t think he ever could. And the fact that she did it multiple times a year...

He never stopped her from drinking. That wasn’t his place. Mor could do what she wanted. But he would always be there when she needed him. Cassian and Rhys knew it, too; they let him stand, let him go, and trusted him to help her home.

Mor spun out from the dance floor, clearly dizzy, and leaned against a table with one hand on her forehead. So he stood, and he went.

She saw him coming; she always did. And his heart always ached when her face lit up in a smile. No matter how drunk she was, Mor was always happy to see him.

“Az! You’re still here,” she slurred, and leaned into his arm as she fell away from the table.

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t leave without you,” he told her, and she clumsily looped her arm with his.

“Come dance with me, Az!” she exclaimed, attempting to pull him toward the thinning crowd of people, but tripped over herself. Az caught her gently with his free arm, and she smiled up at him. “Whoops,” she giggled.

“Mor,” he said. Just her name. He would never tell her she had to leave, or that she couldn’t continue dancing, but she usually knew on her own with her name on his lips. Her smile disappeared, and he wanted nothing more than to bring it back.

“On second thought, maybe we should go home,” she muttered. “I’m tired, Az. Are you tired?"

“I am. Let’s go home."

She smiled again, and his heart warmed. It was incredible, the effect she had on him after all these years. He would never get used to it.

They left the bar with a wave to Rhys and Cassian, and began to walk the streets of Velaris toward the House of Wind. “Should we fly, or are you okay to walk?” Azriel offered.

“I want to walk, for now,” she said, and he obliged. She grabbed his hand, and he obliged that too. He had long ago shed his insecurities about his scars when it came to Mor.

They walked quietly for a while, Mor leaning into him to stop from stumbling every few steps.

On the bridge over the Sidra, Mor stopped and looked at Azriel, her face searching his.

“Did I blow it, Az?"

He sighed, more at himself than at her, and answered, “No, Mor. You didn’t blow it."

No. _Cauldron_ , no. She could never blow it. Not with him.

But she never believed him. Because once, long ago, he had answered differently.

He had been drunk, and young, and stupid. And it had only been three weeks after Mor’s family had tortured her and left her for dead.

Gods, the memory of her bleeding out on the Autumn Court border still made his blood boil and his shadows darken.

After it happened, she had told them all, had told Cassian and Az and even Rhys, that she needed time. That she was finally free. She needed to be independent and heal and discover what it meant to be in charge of her own life. They all respected it, and Azriel admired her for it.

There was a moment, though, as she told him, when she had given him a sad smile. There had been a glint in her eye that made him have hope for the future.

But, he had been seventeen, and foolish.

That night, three weeks later, she had too much to drink, and she had asked him the question for the first time.

_“Did I blow it, Az?"_

And he was angry. She had kissed three other males that night, right in front of him, and he was jealous. So he had answered, “I don’t know.” And it might as well have been “yes”.

He didn’t think she remembered the next morning. There was no indication at all that she recalled her question, let alone his answer.

But every time she was drunk, she remembered. And he had spent five hundred years trying to make up for his mistake. “No, Mor. You didn’t blow it. You could never blow it.” And she never believed him.

So, when he said it this time, and she leaned in and kissed him, it took everything in him not to die of shock.

The kiss was gentle, and she never let go of his hand, and he kissed her back, because her lips were soft and warm and everything he had ever dreamed they would be.

But he was the one to pull away.

“Mor,” he sighed, and brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face. Her eyes were trained on his, taking in every shade of hazel within, and he couldn’t find his words.

Then, she leaned against him, and murmured, “I believe you.” And then her legs began to give out, and he scooped her into his arms as she passed out in his arms.

She was drunk, and he was a fool. She kissed him because she was a drunk, and it wasn’t real. Azriel wouldn’t let himself believe it was real.

But it never happened like this, not all the hundreds of other times he had helped her home after she had too much to drink...

He pushed the thoughts away as he took flight, riding the gentle breeze toward the House of Wind.

Mor was still passed out when they arrived, and he tucked her into her bed, watching her soft, even breathing to make sure she was okay before he went to his own room.

Azriel knew he wouldn’t sleep that night, but he got into bed anyway. His heart was still racing, and his shadows were still sparse, and his lips were still tingling with the feel of _hers_.

He slept fitfully in the early hours of the morning, and awoke at dawn wondering if it had been a dream.

It might as well have been; she wouldn’t remember it this morning. There was no way she would remember.

Mor was sitting at the table, her head in her hands, when he entered the dining room. “Good morning,” he managed, and she looked up at him.

“Morning,” she mumbled. “Is there coffee?"

“There can be,” he answered, walking into the kitchen. “I’ll make some."

“Thanks, Az,” she said with a smile before dropping her head onto her folded arms.

She didn’t remember.

He made coffee and breakfast for both of them; Cassian and Nesta weren’t awake yet, and he knew Cassian typically liked to cook for his mate.

Azriel placed a plate and a mug of coffee beside Mor, and carried his to the seat across from her. They sipped and ate in comfortable silence, as they always did, but Azriel’s heart threatened to leap from his chest.

_She didn’t remember, she didn’t remember, she didn’t remember._

That kiss, small as it was, had wrecked him and built him back up and wrecked him all over again. And she wouldn’t remember it, and it would likely never happen again. It was only because of the liquor, and Azriel needed to forget it too.

When he finished eating, he stood up, and carried his plate to the sink. He washed it, dried it, and made to walk back to his room to bathe.

“Az."

He stopped. He turned around.

Mor was looking at him exactly as she had looked at him the night before. Searching in his eyes for some sort of answer.

“Mor."

She stood up and walked over to him, stopping a few inches in front of him.

“Did I blow it, Az?"

He froze.

It was the first time she had ever asked it sober. The first time she had ever asked it in the morning, the first time she had ever asked it with her hair slightly disheveled from her pillow. The first time she had ever asked it here, in this house, like it was the most important question she had ever asked.

Did she remember?

“No, Mor. You didn’t blow it."

The corners of her mouth slightly upturned, but her eyes still pierced his with that deep concern, digging deep into his soul.

“I’m tired,” she breathed. “Tired of pretending that I don’t believe you.”

She pressed her forehead against his, and he stopped breathing. And then she was kissing him again, the sunlight of the morning spilling from the window and reflecting from her brightness, and Azriel was warm, he was blinded, he was coming up from the darkness that had been hiding his soul for five hundred years. Because she remembered, and maybe this was real. When she pulled away, briefly, she whispered, “I’m tired of pretending that I don’t love you, Az."

He definitely would have thought he was dreaming, had it not been for her eyes on his, grounding him to reality. So he said, “I love you too. I’ve always loved you, Mor,” and lost himself in her.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of going on my lunch break because it's just one of those days when Dust To Dust by the Civil Wars thoroughly wrecks my life.


End file.
